Castitas
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Castitas: def: "purity, fidelity, virtue," syn: Chastity. an anthology of (plotless) non-sexual vignettes. [a companion piece to 'Luxuria']. Han/Leia.
1. Dreams

_a/n: a companion collection of plotless nothing!_ _this serves as a piece that exhibits the depth of emotion that exists without a sexual component necessary. thus, read alongside 'Luxuria' ... a celebration of both._

* * *

 **Dreams**

* * *

It was so late – so quiet, so dark in the apartment; she was sure the only light was coming from the strained glow of lamps in her study, and the flicker of her electronic screens as she worked, worked, worked.

There were so many days, that had become so many nights, lately, that wore her down to the bone, and yet there were things she needed to do, people who needed her, a whole galaxy she served –

Vision blurry and sore, Leia fought drowsiness as she strove to finish what she'd committed herself to for the night – at her elbow sat a cup of tea, lonely, cold, and abandoned, at her feet, her shoes and socks had been cast off – across the study, on a sofa she never used, slept Han.

She stared at him in the waning lights, feeling the internal tug of war that always plagued her – _work harder_ – _no, take care of yourself; sleep_ – she stared at Han, her face softening, the stress in her chest quieting.

He'd brought her the tea, without a word; he'd stretched out there to keep her company, hoping to tempt her to bed, falling asleep there when his charming grins and sweet flirtations failed to budge her.

She turned to her work, her throat tight – his admiration, and his support, made her want to triumph, to achieve, to work harder; and that very same admiration and support he gave her made her feel safe, and justified in taking a break.

She shuffled through the papers and digital holofilms on her desk, beginning to organize things for tomorrow, forcing herself to pull away from all this, shake him awake, fall asleep next to him –

Something caught her eye amidst the ruckus of work on her desk, and she paused, brushing her hand through the mess to pull a wrinkled, plain piece of old sketch paper out from the chaos – the sort of paper Han used to plan rigs on the _Falcon,_ or write personalized I-O-Us – so those around him knew it was an authentic Solo promise.

She held it up, her brow furrowing –

 _Love you, Sweetheart._

 _-_ scrawled across it in Han's distinct, sloppy penmanship.

She looked up over it, her eyes rising above the edge, watching his chest rise and fall – when had he written it, left it for her? It could have been this morning, it could have been days ago, weeks even – tucked under files and datapads, waiting to be found when she needed it.

Leia brought it forward and held it to her lips, as if she could taste his heart in the words.

She got up, and abandoned everything, coming to his side, and kneeling beside the sofa, her hands brushing over his knuckles, his jaw, and his hair. She leaned closer, pressing her forehead against his temple so gingerly, careful not to wake him.

She took a deep breath, and felt the weight of the world fall away from her, all because he was there, because his love was ubiquitous, and undemanding. She slipped her hand down the neck of his shirt, sliding her palm over his chest and resting it over his heart.

Han turned his head abruptly and cleared his throat, grunting softly and opening his eyes. He grinned at her sleepily, and arched his brows.

"Used to dream 'bout wakin' up to you," he drawled charmingly, throwing her a flirtatious wink.

She lowered her nose to his for the briefest moment, smiling.

"Wake up," she whispered. "It's real."

* * *

 _-alexandra_

 _story #369_


	2. Laughter

.

* * *

Laughter

* * *

She couldn't stop laughing, and for the life of her, she could no longer remember why. She was lost in fits of laugher, gasping for breath, and hearing him laugh just as hard only set her off again and again.

Flinging her hand out, she grasped his forearm, squeezing her fingers around him in a helpless little hug of his wrist, reaching up with her other hand to cover her mouth as she calmed herself, and turned to look at him, her head resting lazily against the headrest of the co-pilot's seat.

"And –" she managed, her lips drawing back into a grin "—that time—the thing you said on Sullust – "

Without needing to hear the rest, Han nodded, reaching over to grab her hand and tilting his head back, laughing with just as much recklessness.

She had been sitting with him idly while he tweaked the _Falcon's_ defensive software, keeping herself, company, and keeping him company – it was nothing but easy companionship, born out of years of knowing each other and understanding each other, and moment by moment quiet, sparse conversation turned into some joke or another, and they were rolling in the cracked leather seats, reminiscing.

Han sat forward, shaking his head, and lifting his hand, trying to compose himself and muster a stern glare.

"That's nothin'," he choked, his voice gruff, and wavering, "That's – you remember that bar? You know, that one time – "

" _Stop reminding me!"_ she squealed, jutting her foot out to kick him.

She tried to yank her hand away to cover her mouth, stifling more laughter, but Han grinned and grabbed her fingers, interlocking his with hers and pulling her arm back closer to him. He tucked it closer to him, and Leia leaned over, following the momentum.

Her eyes sparkled as she studied Han's face – his bright, charming smile, the light and happiness in his eyes – and she wondered if she, too, looked that happy when he was making her laugh – if her face in any way reflected how good he made her feel in moments like these, she'd be satisfied with her looks for the rest of her life.

"Ahhhh," Han sighed, his breath catching as he swallowed some of his laughter and quieted, shaking his head fondly. He gave a low whistle. "You're a riot, Sweetheart."

"Me? You're the walking disaster."

He turned his head and winked at her – and she blushed, as if it were the first time he'd ever flirted with her, and she bit her lip – there was so much laughter in her life, laughter that he'd brought her, despite the certainty she'd once had that she'd never laugh again.

* * *

 _-alexandra_


	3. Pink

.

* * *

 **Pink**

* * *

Sprawled out on their backs, close together on his crowded bunk, Han and Leia passed the time with innocuous conversation, uncovering simple things about each other that neither really needed to know, for the sake of a healthy relationship, but that they relished to know, because it was fun, and unexpected and frivolous.

Hip to hip, with her head at his feet, and his head at hers, they traded minutiae, both of them unsure how they had ended up in such a configuration, but vaguely sure it had something to do with thinking it might make for more room on the bunk.

No such luck, but the conversation was alive and quick-witted –

"How old were you when you had your first drink?" Leia asked, tilting her head at the ceiling of his bunk, silently guessing in her head – _twelve,_ she thought, _no_ –

"Fourteen," Han answered smugly.

"That's _it_?"

"Where'd you think a poor punk was gonna buy liquor?" Han retorted, laughing at her disbelief, while she retorted smartly that she supposed he'd stolen it long before his teen years.

Leia shrugged, and he threw the same question back at her, to which she primly answered –

"Ten."

" _Ten_? You lush."

"Oh, it was the _mildest_ of meads – that's all that's served at State – "

"Don't try to fool me, Sweetheart, you were wandering the palace halls at eleven, _drunk,_ weren't you – "

Leia blushed, covering her face with her elbow as she laughed.

"First _real_ drink," Han challenged, drawing his knee up, and then inching his foot over to poke at her ear. She swatted him away and shrugged, biting her lip as she thought about it – "First time you got – y'know, obliterated drunk – "

Leia giggled softly.

"That evening on Sullust," she confided sheepishly.

Han lifted his head, brows raised.

"With me?" he asked, skeptical.

She nodded –

"I was terrified for my safety if I got drunk at political functions, or really at all, in my position," she remarked.

"Disturbing," Han mumbled, frowning. "Even in the palace? At home?"

"Well, my mother put the fear of the Goddess in me, as well," she snorted.

"Hmmm," Han drawled, smirking. "With me on Sullust," he muttered. He rubbed his forehead proudly. "Glad you felt safe with me," he said, then joked: "Big mistake."

Leia laughed.

"Favorite city?"

"Coronet City."

"Han, no one's favorite city is their hometown."

"Mine is. I'd say Mos Eisley if it wasn't full of people who keep tryin' to shoot me. Yours ain't Aldera?"

Leia sighed. She shook her head.

"Belleau-a-Lir," she murmured. "Island city. I miss it."

Han turned his head, and nudged her ankle with his nose. He smiled, his eyes closing slightly, his heart beating quickly in his chest – he felt so unimaginably inspired to be here with her, just the two of them, wrapped up in each other's useless, but still closely kept, secrets.

His brow furrowed.

"Got a favorite colour?" he drawled.

"Do you?"

Han shrugged.

"Red," he muttered.

Leia was quiet for a while, and he lifted his head and peeked at her. He noticed she was blushing a little sheepishly.

"Out with it."

She sighed.

"Pink," she admitted, and Han broke into a half-teasing smirk –

" _Pink_?"

Leia wrinkled her nose, and nodded.

"Didn't expect that," he snorted.

"I tried so hard not to like pink," she said dramatically, shaking her head.

"Why's that?" Han grunted.

She shrugged hard.

"I suppose I didn't want to be a typical…girl."

Han sat up, tilting his head at her.

"Somethin' wrong with that?" he asked genuinely. "Better yet…what'sa typical girl?"

She sat up, too, and looked back at him. She pursed her lips, and shrugged.

"Pink's just a shade of red, ain't it?" Han added, cocking his head back the other way. "Less violence, more class," he offered.

Leia rested her chin on her knees.

"Aren't you a poet," she murmured.

She smiled at him, her eyes bright behind her lashes.

"I like red, too," she whispered.

Han grinned at her, and then collapsed back onto his back, relaxed. In another moment, Leia was next to him, right side up this time, her hand traveling over his temple gently as she looked down at him thoughtfully –

"You're my best friend, Han," she told him quietly.

"More'n that, I hope," he said back, and she only nodded – yes, he was so much more than that, as well, but there were some moments when the aspect of friendship stood out as more vital than anything else.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


	4. Good

.

* * *

 **Good**

* * *

His head ached; she could sense it the moment she saw him. He had a headache and rough new injury, and he was tired, and in her heart and soul there was a desire to draw the badness out of him and his day and replace it with light, and peace.

Han worked hard; he was relentless when he committed himself, and in these pursuits with the fight against the Empire, she knew _his_ commitment was driven by _her_ passion for the cause.

He loved what she loved, because he loved her.

She understood that, and it was humbling to the core. It filled her with such affection, and such fierce stubbornness in defense of him – here they faced, yet another day, in which Han's penchant for solving problems physically somehow, in the eyes of Leia's elite compatriots, negated every self-sacrificing and beautiful thing he had done for their Rebellion.

She knew it wore him down; she strove only to build him up.

She descended on him when she saw him sprawled tiredly over the Dejarik table. She left the snide remarks her colleagues had made at the door, her eyes roaming over his dirty shirt, the smear of blood on his collar, his black eye, and the grease on his hands.

He settled disputes violently, sometimes, and Leia felt only anger when others degraded him because of it, for wasn't their insurgency one large-scale violent answer to the oppression of the Empire?

Han hardly lifted his head; she knelt beside him on the bench, silent, and placed her hands softly on his shoulders. Rather than rouse him, she began to knead his shoulders in a determined, soothing massage, working out the tenseness, the stress, able to feel the ridged, rough edges of scars on his back even through the thick material of his shirt.

When she touched the fresh black eye, he winced, and groaned softly.

"Sorry, Your Worship," he mumbled tersely, his voice heavy. "Keep provin' I'm not good 'nuff for you," he said derisively, "I got no class," he quoted – they had to be someone else's words, and they burned Leia's ears.

She touched his cheek gently.

"Who were you defending?" she asked simply – and she saw golden light flicker in his eyes, the relief at hearing her gentle tone, knowing she wasn't angry – Leia was the only person he'd ever known who understood him well enough to know he was _always_ fighting in defense, _always_ fighting just to stay alive, or to right a wrong –

She knew; she _got_ it.

Han shrugged.

The massage felt good, and her faith felt even better; soothed his aching head like medicine all in its own.

Leia knelt closer to him, taking his head in her hands. She turned his eyes to hers, her fingertips delicate, and tender, against the raw, battered skin around his eye.

"Han," she said, simple and clear, "you are the _only_ one good enough for me."

He gave her a tired look – there were days, under the disapproving gaze of the high command, during which he felt like it was a battle just to be at her side, and on top of that they still battled the Empire itself.

Hearing her – seeing her – shake their disapproval off like it was nothing more than a speck of dust on her sleeve reinvigorated him. He knew he was good enough. He knew he was a good man. He just worried, sometimes, that they would make it too hard on _her_ – to be with him –

He nodded, and turned to her, reaching out not to hug her, but to be hugged. She held him tightly, and he rested his head heavily on her shoulder, breathing out slowly.

"You mean so much to me, Sweetheart," he mumbled hoarsely, his throat tight.

She smiled brilliantly, her fingertips pressing into his back as she hugged him closer. He drew back after a moment, the lopsided smirk sweeping back over his face as he leaned back, and looked at her with quiet ease.

Han knew – Leia herself knew – that her pseudo-guardians amongst the elite thought her the hostage of some sordid, manipulative affair with a careless man, but there was honesty between them that she found nowhere else – that he found nowhere else – and that was pure, and that, sometimes, was the most significant thing they needed from each other.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


	5. Angelic

.

* * *

 ** _Angelic_**

* * *

He had always enjoyed watching Leia sleep. Or – perhaps _enjoyed_ wasn't the right word, though it was definitely an applicable emotion – rather, he got a kick out of watching her sleep.

He contemplated that, as he reclined on the sofa, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, head propped up in a mildly uncomfortable way on the armrest. He'd won full usage of the couch in some ridiculous, amusing play-fight he'd had with Leia two hours ago, and so she was curled up in a tiny ball of Princess in the armchair at in his line of sight –

 _Asleep_ , dead to the world, even though she had _insisted_ they weren't going to watch the Smashball match he wanted to see, they were going to watch the network premier of her favorite sketch comedy – and for an hour or so, she had sleepily and stubbornly faded in and out, insisting she was still watching any time he inched towards the remote.

He'd given up, amused, and now he watched her sleep – and any observer, or romantic fool, might have thought Han Solo watched her sleep and admired her angelic countenance, and thought of the tens of thousands of different ways he loved her – which was true, to an extent; he _did_ love her in tens of thousands of different ways, but as to Leia's angelic countenance –

Contrary to what one might assume, Leia had never, in her life – not to his knowledge – looked angelic when she slept – for all her regal training and elegant royal upbringing, she slept like a wild thing. Elbows at odd angles, mouth open, eyebrow cocked up in a curious manner that somehow made her look perpetually confused with the concept of slumber. Her nose twitched constantly while she slept and Han had lost track of the amount of times she reached up to paw at her hair and somehow got her nails tangled in it.

She was human and vulnerable and as normal as any other woman when she slept, and it never failed to make him laugh, make him – think of the first time he'd ever happened upon her while she was asleep and been inexplicably furious with her because the sight should have cured him of what he thought was superficial infatuation, yet instead he'd never been so enthralled with something so conventionally unattractive. _I guess I'm in love with her,_ he'd thought - _damn._

Grinning at himself, and his good fortune, he stared at her, as her holo program continued on in the background. He reached out next to him and took another popped seed from the bowl of snack mix they'd made earlier, and he threw it in one long, light arch across the room, snorting when it landed on her shoulder and happily rolled down her shirt.

"Leia," he hissed smugly, picking up another seed. He threw it at her, and it landed in her hair.

"Leia, wake up, 'm gonna change the station," he threatened.

Her head rolled to the side. Han took another seed and aimed it –

"Sweetheart," he hissed again, more dramatic, "if I get this in your mouth, we get to watch Smashball," he bargained.

He threw the seed. It bounced off her nose, hit her lip, and rolled into her lap, joining the handful of snacks Han had already thrown at her half an hour ago to determine how asleep she was. Han sat forward, and grabbed the remote, deciding that was good enough.

He flicked the channel over.

Leia sat forward, blinking rapidly.

"Han," she protested, and then looked down – " _Han_!" she shrieked at him, glaring as she swatted seeds out of her lap and began to comb through her hair – "Han, change it back!"

"Can't," he said. "I won the bet."

"What _bet_?!" she demanded, picking seeds out of her shirt – she fixed him with a baleful stare, holding it up to him menacingly.

Han grinned, tucking the remote against his chest and turning to look back at her. He watched her picking at her hair suspiciously, so close to finding the other seeds, missing them by inches. He laughed out loud.

"You look ridiculous when you sleep," he teased her affectionately.

Leia threw all of the seeds she'd collected back at him, and then leapt from her spot on the arm chair to take a dramatic dive towards the bowl next to him – Han tried to intercept her, but she moved too quickly, and upended the entire mass of snacks on his head.

* * *

\- alexandra


	6. Scare

_a/n: insp. by Ellen and Portia._

* * *

 **Scare**

* * *

He had come home for the day, and tossed himself down on the sofa, intent on lying there for a brief moment to recuperate from the shock of actually having worked a full day, and then some. His moment of rest accidentally turned into a lengthy, impromptu nap, from which he woke up several hours later, in a much darker apartment, with every single one of his muscles angrily protesting about the terrible position he'd left them in while he slept.

Han lifted his head from the pillow he'd buried it in, looking around blearily.

"Leia?" he called gruffly – surely she'd been at home when he got back; she'd _said_ she would be.

How was it that the whole apartment seemed as if it was the dead of night – it couldn't be past midnight, could it? He lifted his head a bit more, narrowing his eyes and looking around.

"Leiiiiiiiiiiaaaa?" he called louder.

Nothing.

He pushed himself up with a wince, scowling at himself for falling asleep flat on his face, sprawled out on a too-small sofa, and stood, rustling his hand through his hair and running a hand over his jaw as he yawned. He kicked aside the jacket he'd stripped off before he collapsed, and shuffled around the furniture, prowling around to look for his wife.

His checked the blinking chrono on the stove, and his brow furrowed – he'd only been asleep two hours. Had she _not_ been home when he got here? Gone out when she saw him asleep? What - ?

He went into their bedroom, and found the 'fresher light on, the closet door open – plenty of evidence that Leia had been around, in the past few hours, and just as he was about to transition into a full panic, he noticed a small foot poking out from under the bed.

Arching a brow, Han came closer, standing right over the foot, and staring down at it.

It was definitely Leia's. He tilted his head, and nudged it with his boot.

" _Leia_ ," he said loudly.

Without wasting time, he crouched down, and then got onto his knees, and then finally stretched out flat to be able to see into the small space under the bed – where he found Leia, proned out, her head facing towards him and pillowed on her arm – fast asleep.

Amused, he smirked.

He reached out and poked her in the ribs gently, tickling her. Leia's eyes flew open, and he grinned.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he greeted, and she gave a soft, surprised scream, lifting her head and smacking it against the bottom of the bed.

Han tried to stifle laughter, and scooted back a little, reaching out his arm to take her hand and help her shimmy out from under the bed. Forcing himself not to laugh too hard, he rolled up on his side, propping his head up on his palm smugly.

"What the hell're you doin' under there?" he drawled.

Struggling with a yawn of her own, Leia's face flushed –

"I was…going to – grab your foot, when you – I was trying to scare you!" she stammered.

"You fell asleep under the bed while you were tryin' to scare me?"

"What took you _so long_ to come into the bedroom?" she demanded, scowling.

Han snorted.

"Fell asleep on the couch the minute I walked in," he retorted.

Leia gave him a withering look, drawing her lip into her mouth to bite back a smile.

"You scared _me_!" she accused.

He started laughing, without holding it back this time. He reached out with his free arm, beckoning –

"C'mere," he growled playfully.

Leia rolled over closer, barreling into him aggressively and attempting to roll over him. He grabbed her about the waist, curving his fingertips into her ribs again, and she squealed at the sensation, ticklish, and dramatically attempted to fight out of his grip.

He tilted his head back, pretending to be solemn, and caught her eye.

"'M sorry I scared you," he said, patting the back of her head. "Is your head okay?"

She sighed, jabbing her elbow into his chest softly and resting her chin on her palm, shaking her head at him while clicking her tongue.

"Not since the day I fell in love with you," she teased.

Han gave her a mock glare, and rolled to his side, letting her go – pretending to push her back under the bed, while she giggled and kicked her feet out, this time, trying to comfortably climb back into his arms.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


	7. Share

_a/n: this stands on its own, unrelated to anything._

* * *

 **Share**

* * *

She lounged casually on the cool ceramic of the 'fresher sink, her back pressed lazily against the mirror, head tilted thoughtfully as she watched Han shave. It was a daily ritual, but one she liked to admire, and on weekends – when they slept in and eschewed work and responsibility – she often made a pastime of watching him, of having inane conversations with him while he drew the razor carefully over his jaw.

The heels of her bare feet tapped lightly against the cabinets beneath the sink.

"Would you grow a goatee if I asked you to?" she ventured, arching a brow.

Han arched a brow right back, focusing on his razor.

"You hate facial hair," he retorted.

"If I asked you to," she repeated.

"What's in it for me?"

"My amusement."

He snorted.

"Sure, Sweetheart," he quipped, scraping off stubble and frothy shaving cream and flicking it – first into the sink, and then playfully at her.

She swatted at him, pursing her lips, and folded her arms, drawing one leg up. She perched the arch of her foot on the edge of the sink.

"What do you want for breakfast?" she asked.

" _I'll_ cook," he said immediately, shooting her a wary look in the mirror.

Leia grinned.

"I want fried shuura," she said silkily.

"You hate shuura."

She hummed under her breath, gazing at his profile.

"What would you do if I broke all of your favorite things on the _Falcon_?"

Han turned the sink on, coming to the end of his routine.

"Guess I'd have to find a way to still love you," he fired back.

"Ah, would it be hard to find a way?"

Han glanced over at her.

"Hmm. Maybe not if you're wearin' that shirt, and sittin' on the sink like that," he quipped.

She smiled placidly.

"What if I woke you up every two hours _all_ night for the next," she sighed breezily, "four months? A year?"

Han laughed, shaking his head and rinsing off his razor, and his face. As he patted his jaw dry, he flicked water at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"What kind'a flirtin' is this?" he asked, amused.

He turned off the water, and leaned forward, pressing one knuckle against the sink to brace himself, and reaching over to rub her knee affectionately, giving her a curious look.

Leia pursed her lips sweetly.

"I am just determining your threshold, your capacity for continued love, if you will – "

He tilted his head, shrugged slowly.

"Ahhh, you're pretty stuck with me, Princess."

"Am I?" she asked, well aware of the answer, tilting her chin up. Her heart raced with anticipation. "Well, what if you have to share me?"

"Share you?" he repeated. His eyes narrowed – "With _who_?" he demanded.

"A rival of your own making," she answered cryptically.

Han gave her a look, and Leia turned her head, drawing her teeth over her lip, biting back a glittering smile, and closing her eyes for a moment, opening them to look back at him.

"What if," she said again, less flirtatious, "I told you I'm pregnant?"

Han straightened up a little, his hand stilling against her knee. He swallowed hard.

"Are you gonna tell me that?" he asked.

Her head lolled against the mirror. She moved her knee back and forth a little, equivocating, her eyes shining.

"I _may_ ," she said, "if you don't mind a house full of broken things, and never sleeping, and sharing – each other – "

He moved closer, squeezing her leg to hold her still, leaning closer.

"Leia?" he breathed.

She sat forward, placing her hand over his. She laced their fingers together tightly, held his gaze, and nodded. The grin that burst over Han's face caused her to start laughing. He lunged forward and pulled her into a hug, sliding her forward on the sink and pressing kisses to her temple and the top of her head.

"So, we're doin' this, huh?" he mumbled, his heart hammering in his chest – "The whole damn thing?" he asked.

The idea of being married to her had always seemed like enough of a privilege, but that he could have more with her, the sort of thing he'd never had as a child – it was both unimaginable, and wonderful.

Leia hugged him closer, pressing her forehead into his hair, and thinking of all the unbelievable events that had lead them to the purity of this moment.

* * *

 **The End**

* * *

 _-alexandra_


End file.
